


six hearts beat as one

by zabiume



Category: Bleach
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27267403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zabiume/pseuds/zabiume
Summary: A collection of fics, drabbles and other short works revolving the main six characters of Bleach, but mostly IchiHime.1. Married Ichihime Fluff (+ Ichika & Renji cameo)2. Chad+Renji Burrito Bonding3. Karakura Gang cuddle drabble4. Uryu's Birthday one-shot (karakura gang)5. Inuzuri RenRuki6. TatsuHime Fluff7. IchiHime Angst8. Rukia (+ Karakura gang)
Relationships: Abarai Renji & Inoue Orihime & Ishida Uryuu & Kuchiki Rukia & Kurosaki Ichigo & Sado "Chad" Yasutora, Abarai Renji/Kuchiki Rukia, Arisawa Tatsuki/Inoue Orihime, Inoue Orihime & Ishida Uryuu & Kurosaki Ichigo & Sado "Chad" Yasutora, Inoue Orihime/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 23
Kudos: 81





	1. you're insecure (don't know what for) - (ichihime)

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of these are tumblr prompts, but some of them are new, never-before-seen zabiume content. I needed a placeholder nonetheless, so here it is. If you want to see me write something specifically for you, [send an ask on tumblr](https://kazeshini-s.tumblr.com/) and I'll consider writing it if I Vibe with it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renji is a capital-d Dad and Ichigo feels a little beat at this game before he's even started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, the title is from One Direction's 'What Makes You Beautiful.' I am a) not a Title person b) lifelong boyband loving trash.

Ichika was gurgling in half, play-sentences. 

“Wanna feed her an orange slice?” Renji asked, watching her engage her fingers in dug-up lines of dirt. 

Ichigo followed his gaze and frowned. “Why would I do that?”

Renji shrugged, extending one long arm to feed Ichika himself. She sucked it in like a puppy, giving Renji’s fingers a few good licks before regarding her ‘Dirtsterpiece’ again. Ichigo hesitated for a moment, then followed Renji’s cue and prodded Ichika’s shoulder with his own slice. She took this one too, but without the licks -- to Ichigo’s relief. Did children lick? He did not distinctly remember Yuzu or Karin being Lickers but Karin had been a Biter and he felt a sudden twinge of alarm. Did Orihime have any Biter genes on her side of the family? That would definitely be cause for concern. 

“Howl, Zabimaru,” Ichika cooed absently, poking the ground with a stick.

"Now listen to me closely," Renji said importantly, puffing out his chest. "Raising a kid is a lot like attaining bankai; it takes years to master and sometimes when you think you're doing it right, you're fucking up and you don't realize it until your Captain says the office smells like cabbages.” He winced at the memory. “Everything you know goes down the drain." He made an airplane motion with his hand, soaring and then plummeting.

"I got bankai in like, two days," Ichigo bragged, ignoring the rest of Renji's drivel.

“ _Bankai!_ ” Ichika babbled, overestimating her ability to throw her stick far, giving a disappointed pout when it fell within two feet of her. 

" _The point_ ," Renji emphasized, through nibbles of taiyaki Orihime had made _especially for him_ and not for Rukia or Ichika, thank you very much. "is that you _will_ eventually fuck up. And when you do, as long as your kid's still got five-fingers-five-toes, you gotta keep moving. Keep learning."

Ichigo considered this with a frown.

"I'd love my son even if he didn't have five toes," he grumbled, after a pause.

Renji stood up and clapped his shoulder, insanely glad that it hadn't been him that had stabbed Ichigo in the chest and given him his powers all those years ago. Had he been in Rukia's position, he would've dumped Ichigo on the side of the street, twelve seconds tops, and absconded somewhere. Honolulu, maybe. Mars, even. 

"Good," he said anyway, getting ready to head back to Urahara's shoten. "Then it looks like you're already halfway there, buddy." He beckoned Ichika with an hand, and the kid immediately went into his arms with a happy sigh. "Ah, poopy time for this one."

Ichigo made a face. "How do you _know_ that?"

"Eh, you learn to read the signs," Renji explained, shifting Ichika over one shoulder, the baby bag over the other. "She's a little fussy with fruits, but she craps like a reitsu-storm when she eats Living World food, so it should be another twenty minutes give-or-take before she's ready to take a shit. I should get started, though, make sure everything's ready to go before I head back."

Ichigo nodded, ready to escort Renji and Ichika to the gate. As he watched them leave, however, he couldn't help but feel a sinking pull in his gut.

_Was he ready for this?_

**__________________**

When Ichigo returned to the house, the lights were off in every location but the kitchen. So, he followed, hearing the distant sounds of his wife on the phone.

"...should see him," she was saying happily, resting one hand on her belly, the other around her phone. A stick of pocky was hanging from her lips as she talked, flicking up and down with her movement. "He looks so much like a shrimp right now, I was seriously considering naming him Ebi!"

She laughed at her own joke.

On the other end, Tatsuki snickered something incomprehensible as the two women continued chatting. Seeing Ichigo standing there aimlessly, Orihime stretched out one hand to affectionately rub his neck before going back to her conversation.

Ichigo paced the room like a caged tiger, feeling restless and crabby but not wanting to interrupt her call. He took twelve steps to the sink, then began walking back and forth, oblivious to the fact that Orihime was watching him.

_One, two, three._..he chanted inwardly, feeling frustrated. Something was ringing persistently in his ears, the white noise agitating him. It was a crawling anxiety of sorts, a traitorous voice that told him he had a duty and he wasn't cut out for it.

When he felt a presence sticking to his back, looping her tiny arms around his middle, he felt the noise clear out slowly. Orihime nuzzled his spine with her nose, pressing a kiss there. "You okay?" she asked.

"Fine," he lied-- a reflex, really, that he knew she'd call him out on in the _Orihime-est_ of ways. "Just thinking."

Orihime withdrew from the backwards hug with a knowing look on her face. "Wanna 'think' in bed with three pints of mint chocolate chip ice cream?" She wriggled her eyebrows with great promise.

Ichigo suddenly felt a drip of panic. _Hadn't he --?_

"You didn't finish it," she supplied cheerfully, bopping him on his nose. "I had a stash in the Emergency Safe."

The Emergency Safe was a section of their freezer that Ichigo, specifically, wasn't allowed to touch. Once the baby got here, she knew she couldn't go about being too miserly with her food, so she was making up for lost snack time already by rationing her ice cream like an apocalypse survivor. Ichigo loved her.

He reached down to help her gather the tub and the bowls, but she swatted him away so he settled for watching her instead. She hummed as she picked out some fancy bowls, gifts from the wedding that they hadn’t opened yet. Ichigo’s eyebrows shot up at one particular set that he hadn't seen since the wedding. 

“Was that the set Ochi gave us?” he asked, holding his hand out for the bowl she was giving him. 

“No,” she sighed, setting her hands on her hips. “I think it was from Mizuro’s girlfriend. The nice one from America.” Admittedly, they still hadn't gotten around to unpacking some of the wedding gifts, but neither of them had found it within themselves to talk the other into motivating each other to _get it done._

“Oh, yeaaah,” he dragged out, with a nod. “Why did we invite her again?” 

Orihime shrugged. At the end of it, a lot of people had shown up to the wedding and she had frankly just been bothered about saying her vows, eating her cake, and getting out of there so they could christen every room in the house with their newfound Married Privacy. Married Privacy was a little different from making out with Ichigo in his room with the music turned up so his dad wouldn’t hear them; she was legally allowed to kiss Ichigo whenever she wanted within her own four walls and no one could say anything to stop them. It was expected. It was encouraged. Forgive her if she had been too preoccupied to remember which of Mizuro’s fleeting girlfriends he had brought to the wedding. 

Ichigo watched as she gathered up her own _‘Happy Family’_ bowl, with the flowery ultramarine print. The weirdest thing about Orihime being pregnant wasn't her globular belly or her frequent farts. It was that he'd open his mouth, try to get her to race him to the bedroom or throw her over his shoulder in the way he knew she liked -- only to realize they couldn't do that without some sort of retaliation from the baby. 

_The baby,_ he thought, in awe _._ Planned as he was, he was still a vague, orange-ish blur in the back of Ichigo's mind. Like one of those bad pranks in Laugh Hour where women pretended to be pregnant by hiding those cheap costume things under their shirts. Like some camera crew would pop out any second now and yell "Surprise!" and everyone at the grocery store would stare at him in recognition for the next few weeks. It was surreal. He was constantly teetering between excitement, disbelief and anxiety.

"Last one to the bedroom has to rub my feet!" Orihime called out suddenly, waddling over to the stairs to get a head start.

He scoffed, wondering why she'd create such an elaborate set-up for something he had no qualms about doing. When he saw her bounding up the stairs, however, he figured it was time to move.

"Oi! Take it easy!" he called out, following her.

**_____________**

Lying in bed with a tub of ice cream in her hands and Ichigo rubbing between the crevices of her toes was the height of ecstasy. That, and the fact that she'd roped him into putting peanut butter into his bowl as well.

_"Did you know that some female praying mantis species eat the male's head after mating?_ " the woman on TV droned, in exaggerated excitement. _“Much to think about, the dynamics of marriage in the insect kingdom.”_

Orihime sighed pensively, wrapping her hands around his right arm as she settled her head on his shoulder.

Ichigo raised his eyebrows, pausing his massage. He got the slight impression he was being threatened. "Don’t tell me you’re getting ideas.” 

She tittered, whacking his arm lightly. “I wouldn’t want to eat your head,” she said innocently, poking his temple. “There’s too much going on up there.” 

“That is true,” he agreed, leaning down so she could feed him his ice cream. His hands were otherwise occupied with her feet, all things considered, so she obliged.

They continued watching the television blankly for a while, but Ichigo knew Orihime was just giving him his space to collect his thoughts and tell her what was up. She did give him a light kiss on the cheek though, a feather-light brush, before whispering, “I’m right here if you need me.” 

And suddenly, he found himself doing exactly that. _Needing_ her. 

“Renji’s a good dad,” Ichigo blurted, feeling a little embarrassed at how childish and stupid it sounded out loud. He stared at his hands, but gave Orihime a quick, sideways glance to see how she’d take it. 

“He is,” Orihime agreed slowly, taking his hand in hers. “I think we lucked out by having such great role models as our friends.” 

And, well, Ichigo agreed with that. Suddenly, his ears burned, feeling _extremely_ stupid for being envious of Renji for having his shit together. He buried his head in Orihime’s shoulder and whiffed her scent. When he looked up, he was sure he had a stupid pout on his face. “Do you think I’d be a good dad?”

“The very best,” Orihime replied automatically, not the slightest doubt in her tone.

Ichigo scoffed. “You know, I’m a little concerned at how you barely gave that a thought.” 

Orihime frowned, absolutely displeased that someone would call her husband’s character into question -- even if it was the said husband himself. “I’ve seen you with your sisters,” she defended, like she was reading off a list. “And Nel. And maybe every other small child you’ve ever come across.” She turned to him, slightly teary-eyed. “You’re so good to _me_ , how could I think you’d be anything less than perfect with our baby?” 

He grinned. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” He pat her gently, feeling secretly grateful for her words and the way they warmed his heart. “For the record, I think you’d be an amazing mom, too.” Excitement sluiced through his belly at the thought of it; he’d seen this dorky girl grow from a chubby-faced friend-of-a-friend to his _wife_ and now she was having his _baby._ All in the span of a tiny lifetime together. 

“I don’t know about that,” she said modestly, wriggling a little as he pressed a ticklish kiss to her neck. “I’m just trying my best, and I know you are too.” 

He hummed. "I just feel stupid sometimes,” he admitted, in a small voice. “I’m only good at a handful of things, like wielding a sword and protecting the people I care about. What if I fuck up somehow and he turns out to be some emotionally-stunted asshole who has a complicated relationship with his dad?”

Orihime raised her eyebrows, amused. “Like...?”

“Ishida,” he replied immediately, earning a peal of laughter from her. 

“They’re getting better, you know,” Orihime pointed out as an aside, recovering from her red-faced glee. “They have brunch now. Your dad taught his how to tag people on Facebook so now it’s all over my feed.”

“Isn’t that sweet,” Ichigo retorted dryly, rolling his eyes.

Orihime nudged him gently with her elbow. “ _The point_ is that you can always work on relationships as long as both parties want to put in the work!” she said brightly, then cupped his chin with a fond gaze. “So, don’t sweat it. If there’s even a tiny bit of me in our son, I know he’s going to love you a lot.” 

Ichigo felt suddenly overwhelmed by the profoundness of the moment. Orihime always had this way of rambling about the simplest things, but summarizing the most complicated of matters into one simple, straightforward sentence that had him wondering why he was thinking so much in the first place. 

“If there’s even a tiny bit of _you_ in our kid, I’ll be the luckiest guy on Earth,” he said seriously, kissing her knuckles. “Thank you, ‘Hime.”

“Of course!” she beamed, turning back to her praying mantis documentary in idle interest. Ichigo spent a few more minutes considering her words and his general predicament with a frown. Then,

“Hey, ‘Hime? You know what you are?” 

“Do I know...what I am?” Orihime repeated, scrunching her nose cutely in confusion. She wondered if this was going to be some sort of literary joke. Ichigo made those sometimes; it made her incredibly hot for him. 

“When you have my baby,” he leaned in to whisper in her ear. “you’re going to be a MILF.”

Orihime gasped, almost choking on the unexpected laughter that bubbled in her throat. “Okay, Keigo,” she teased, already inching away from his retaliating hands with a small squeak. “Oh, Ichigo, _stop_ , that tickles! Oh, I might pee my pants, _stop_ \--”

“Take that back, then,” he growled, carefully pinning down her shoulders without putting too much pressure on her belly. He came down to bite her shoulder, teeth already clamping down on her clothed skin. Then, he immediately halted in his motion. “Hey, ‘Hime?” 

“Hmm?” 

...

“Did you bite a lot as a baby?” 

She stared up at him with yet another look of confusion that had him wondering if this biting thing was really a problem. 

"Sora did say I had a bit of a teething problem," Orihime admitted slowly, tapping her chin.

Scratch that, Ichigo thought. The biting thing was definitely doing to be a problem.


	2. Bros & Burritos (chad + renji)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **recurring-polynya** asked:
> 
> For the “I wish you would write a fic...” meme: I loved the part in “Epic Highs and Lows” where Chad made everybody burritos. I would love to see you write a him trying to make a burrito for Renji during the Advance Team Arc. I don’t imagine they have burritos in Soul Society, although Rukia has probably already had the Chad burrito experience and is a big fan.

“Have you ever had one?”

Chad doesn’t know how he’s developed this habit, just that it’s crept up on him over the years and settled in his hands – the same hands that batter and _bruise,_ that swing and crush – with a pride that feels foreign and natural in the same breath.

The first time was for Ichigo, of course. They’d gone to the new Mexican place that opened by the river -- _‘you know,’_ Ichigo had said, _‘the one with the funny moustache waiter’ --_ and it had been _terrible._ The seasoning was abysmal. The beans-to-beef ratio was off. Chad had wordlessly yanked Ichigo out of there and taken him back to his own apartment, before whipping up a _real_ burrito. One with heart and pride and just the right amount of beans. Ichigo had watched his silent crabbiness and internal anguish with amusement, but the first bite had him going,

_“Man, Chad, if I was gay, I’d totally marry you.”_

Chad had grinned. Ichigo is a guy of few praises but he’s someone Chad respects, and the man sitting opposite him is no different. Abarai Renji is not the kind of person even his wildest imaginations could have concocted. He’s only three inches shorter than Chad, but he manages to tower over everyone with a pompous mien that he’s only seen in Ichigo so far. _And_ he’s the only other guy Chad has seen who willingly accepts head trauma if it means trying a cool trick while training.

Hence, the nostalgia – probably.

“No, I don’t think I’ve had a ‘ _burrito’_ before,” Renji says, idly scratching his chin. “Is that one of those things Rukia won’t shut up about?” There’s a lot of things Rukia won’t shut up about, especially when it comes to the World of the Living, but Renji likes to think he keeps track the best he can. He leans in to sniff whatever Chad is adding with a great curiosity. He’s not even in gigai, but the stuff smells so enticing, his stomach lets out a growl.

Chad pauses mixing his cold ingredients to regard Renji. “Kuchiki has talked about my burritos?”

“Huh?” Renji looks up, his eyes glazed over briefly before clearing up. “Yeah, she’s mentioned it a couple of times. We haven’t exactly got a _cuisine_ back home, so I’m guessing she went feral the second she set foot here, huh?”

Chad grins, remembering how Ichigo would always complain about her tendency to take seconds of _everything_ the first few days she followed him around town. His burritos hadn’t been much different, in that regard.

Chad sets aside his cold ingredients bowl, preparing to shred the cheese when he sees Renji’s sharp eyes regard everything he’s doing with a vague curiosity. “Do you want to help?” The man doesn’t look like he knows the first thing about cooking, but he’s a patient and encouraging teacher so Chad gives thanks by way of picking out the freshest beef and the homemade guac he had to hide after Orihime made one-too-many heart eyes at it.

Renji nods vaguely, so Chad tosses a pink-and-yellow polka dot apron at him. It’s too small for either of them, but Renji puts it on with a fervent excitement that has more to do with the eccentric patterns than the cooking itself. Or so Chad suspects, considering Renji’s bandanas.

Renji slaps his hands together. “Alright, let me at ‘em.”

They work in an amicable silence – or at least that’s what Chad hopes it is. Renji is a loud trainer but a silent cook, preferring to watch and observe Chad’s movements and mimic them to the best he can. His hands are coarse, but focused. There’s a discipline underneath those fingernails that speaks of hard work and resolve. They’re soldier’s hands through and through. Chad looks at his own with a frown. They used to be softer, if he recalls correctly. Less battle-hardened.

Outside, the autumn air billows against his window, the sole leaf pattered on the glass a reminder of what’s to come. Of the time that ticks and the silent countdown that seems to weigh on everyone’s shoulders these days.

“Thank you,” Chad says, quietly. “for training me.”

Renji glances up from his burrito. “Yeah,” he says. “No problem, kid.” There’s a lingering silence in the air at the end of his statement, like he wants to say more, but he shakes his head and fusses with a stray piece of onion. Chad is good at reading silences; he knows the question will come soon, but he doesn’t answer it prematurely. He just leans over when Renji is done, showing him how to tuck the burrito around its corners.

_Pinch them gently, Sado_ , Abuelo would say, like he could read the unspoken grief, the rage, at the tips of Chad’s fingertips. Like he was trying to flatten it through dough. _Gently._

They gather at Chad’s dinner table, a welcome reprieve from the low tables at Urahara’s shoten. Renji’s burrito is flimsy and most of the filling spills out but he looks proud of it. He snaps a picture with his cute, lavender spirit phone while Chad sets the table. He waits patiently for Renji to set his phone down.  
  


“Well? What am I eating this with?” Renji asks, prodding the side with a finger.

Chad raises his own burrito and takes a bite out of the top corner. Renji chuckles and imitates him, though some of the filling leaks out and topples over his chin. His burrito is a little less spicy and a lot crunchier than Chad’s but its good. For a beginner.

“Mmm, I’m so making this when I get back,” he declares, over large mouthfuls. “It’s really good!”

Chad grunts, raising his hands in a satisfied thumbs-up. They continue eating, with Renji making little, satisfied noises every now and then. When he’s nearly wolfed it down to the very ends, he asks with a defeated sigh,

“Why are you fighting in this war, anyway? Ichigo, I get – the kid got roped into our shit the second Rukia decided to stick her sword in his chest. Maybe the Quincy’s in it to prove himself, I don’t know. But you and Inoue…you can sit this one out. I’m sure no one would judge ya.” He leans back in his chair like he’s asking, not telling, and he seems genuinely curious.

Chad averts his eyes and crosses his arms. He knows he isn’t a fighter, but he doesn’t know he’s this obvious. Then again, the guy sitting across from him _has_ taken one too many _el directo_ head on, so he would know. When he locks gazes with Renji, the look he receives in return is almost sympathetic.

“I fight for Ichigo,” Chad says, finally. “He fights for me.” Well, he fights for everyone – he has to – but that’s how it works with them. That’s the ultimate Bro Code – as Keigo would have called it. This need to protect, it rings all too well with everything Chad lives for. It’s the exception to every vow he made with Abuelo.

Renji snorts. For a second, Chad thinks he might not get it. Then again, from what he’s heard about Abarai Renji, he suspects the man is pretty much the same when it comes to loyalty.

“Well, I hope the squirt appreciates he’s got a mean chef on his side of the battle. Heck, I’m sure if you made a couple o’ these for those Arrancar, the war would end right there. No more power strife, just a bunch of good fucking food for everyone.”

Chad smiles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you polynya for this fun prompt!


	3. A QuadCuddle SquadCuddle (karakura gang)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Movie night with the gang goes just about as well as everyone expected it to go - terribly great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **briefhottubcoffee** asked:
> 
> I love your writing! And Orihime is one of my favorite characters ever! I would love to see a drabble from you for her birthday. Maybe the gang being Regular Kids doing school things or going to the movies or arcade or something. Maybe some cute OrihimexIchigo things. I dunno.

It’s the loud kissing sounds that finally break the idle silence in the room.

“Gross,” Ichigo declares, turning his face away from the TV with a scowl. He nabs Chad’s thigh with his foot, crossing the distance of Orihime’s lap and wobbling the bowl of popcorn to get there. “You always pick the worst movies, Chad.” It’s always something sappy and Chad and Orihime almost _always_ end up being sobbing messes by the end of it.

“It’s not that bad,” Chad defends in a tone that convinces no one but himself. He stretches out and takes a handful from the bowl, half for himself and half for Uryuu tucked into his side beside him. 

“Though I am loath to agree, Kurosaki is right,” Uryuu points out, a slight grimace on his face. On screen, the actors are still locked in a passionate embrace that is just _too loud_ and _too much_ for their liking and even Chad looks a little uncomfortable, distracting himself by massaging Uryuu’s bony ankle with the pad of his large thumb. Ichigo spots the movement but doesn’t say anything, knowing everyone will be mad at him for breaking up a Sweet Moment.

Orihime just laughs softly, snuggling further into her own blanket. “They’re just kissing, you guys,” she teases, too well-versed in her friends’ dramatic reactions to be surprised at this point. She pops a chocolate-sauce-dipped piece of popcorn in her mouth, completely unfazed by everything else.

“They don’t even know each other,” Ichigo complains loudly, and it rings in her ear by virtue of all of them being pressed up on her small couch. She doesn’t move away or flinch, but if anyone accuses her of _blushing_ , she will vehemently deny it. “And I’m sure the guy is using way too much tongue, fuck, it looks like he’s _eating_ her.”

She will agree with that, though, and she silently hopes the actress was paid enough for enduring the so-called face-eating.

“We should have watched the noir drama I picked up last week,” Uryuu says smugly. “It had excellent reviews.”

Ichigo scowls. Though he’s not a fan of this garbage movie either, he’s Chad’s best friend, which means he will fight Ishida on principle. “You just want to be able to gloat when you guess who the murderer is ten minutes into the movie.”

“It’s called _inference_ , not guesswork and the last I recall, it was _five_ minutes into the movie.”

He grumbles vaguely, putting his arm on the headrest behind Orihime to make more space for them. The movement unintentionally frees up space for her to lean her head back, slightly touching his shoulder. They go back to watching the movie in silence, though Chad murmurs an apology – like he personally wrote this movie – when the couple kiss again. Ichigo is too tired to complain, so he just rolls his eyes. When he looks down at his shoulder, Orihime is already looking up at him with a soft smile that creases around her eyes.

“Wanna bet a family pack of mochi he’s gonna do something stupid, like throw a rock at her window and wake the whole family up?” he asks, breaking eye contact to point at the lead actor instead. He’s crouching by a tree and Ichigo can almost feel the second-hand embarrassment from his eventual failure.

Orihime follows his gaze reluctantly and shakes her head. “He’s going to climb the drain pipe.” She picks up another piece of popcorn and tosses it into her mouth. He mimics her, for a lack of better things to do with his hands, and settles to watch the screen again.

Sure enough, about a minute into their differing predictions, the actor begins scaling the drainpipe. Ichigo groans. “What, did you write this move?”

She giggles, a knowing smile on her face. “You owe me mochi.” When she hugs herself around her middle, he can feel her knuckles brush softly against his side.

Ichigo scoffs and turns away, pretending not to feel all sorts of giddy in his belly. It’s all Chad’s fault for picking a rom-com, anyway. That’s how he’ll justify it, if anyone asks, but for now he’s okay with grazing his fingertips on her shoulder, the tiniest of smiles on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you briefhottubcoffee! Hope you didn't mind that I added a sprinkle of chadishi in there!


	4. there's no end in fri(end)ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no better time to condemn a friend to your company than a birthday 
> 
> or
> 
> the one where Uryu realizes he's part of a team, and the realization is a lot more satisfying than it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have 10000 WIPs but I missed Uryu's birthday and that is a crime I should not commit as a a Karakura Gang stan first and human second. 
> 
> Happy late birthday, Uryu!

"Ichigo, you're stepping on it!" A whine.

  


"She's right, Ichigo." A rumble.

  


"Well if you two are so concerned, you hold it then!" An indignant shout.

  


Ryuken Ishida stared blankly at his doorstep for a second, the cacophony and vibrant color on his mahogany carpet slowly registering in his brain. It wasn't every day that he had teenagers on his doorstep, much less the ragtag crew of clumsy, pack-bound adolescents Uryu dubbed as 'friends.'

He cleared his throat primly.

Kurosaki Ichigo and Yasutora Sado immediately shoved one Inoue Orihime in front of them. She gave a toothy grin on cue, lifting a satchel in the air. "Hi! Ishida-san! It's Ishida-kun's birthday today!"

Ryuken blinked. Never had there been so many decibels in his house at the ungodly hour of seven o' clock in the morning before. "I'm aware."

Orihime blinked. Behind her, Ichigo and Chad seemed slightly awkward, but she carried on nonetheless, pointing to the little, woolen slip of gray that peeked from her bag. "Well, we have a present for him that we wanted to drop off," she said cheerfully. "Would it be okay if we could give it to him in person and wish him a happy birthday?"

Ryuken paused, feeling slightly uncomfortable at the prospect of the three children staring at him unblinkingly, making no commentary about his satin-y, blue bathrobe. Idly, he wondered if Kurosaki Ichigo would report this grievous detail back to his father.

He hoped they were warring again, for his own modesty's sake.

He nodded stiffly. "Uryu is not awake yet. It would seem as if his concept of morning begins well past noon," he made a face, "You may use the West staircase, _excuse me-_ -"

Ichigo, Chad and Orihime, who had all but barged in and begun heading up the stairs, paused.

"Inside shoes," Ryuken said coolly, pointing to the corner of the coat-rack where they kept their guest slippers neatly arranged on a mat. There were only two pairs and they only came in two sizes, tiny and ginormous, so the Kurosaki boy would have to make do barefoot. This didn't seem to deter them however, as they tittered and cluttered around until Orihime and Chad had put their in-house slippers on.

"Thanks," Ichigo grumbled, giving Ryuken the kind of curt nod a man would give to his equal. Ryuken was only slightly appalled at the insolence.

On the surface, it seemed to be exactly the kind of arrogance and abrasive cockiness that Isshin Kurosaki ( _formerly Shiba_ , his brain added out of habit, just to be trite) brandished. Anyone who knew better however, could see the challenging smirk drawn between his eyebrows-- a sort of quiet confidence that he'd only seen before in Masaki. It was like all the resemblances were right there, underneath the thick Shiba skin that veneered the top.

The children seemed to be staring at Ryuken, waiting for his next command or objection.

He sighed. "Carry on, then."

"Right!" All the teens exclaimed in unison, fleeing up the stairs like a pack of excited wild dogs.

  


**________________**  


  


  


They reached an archaic, but firm landing that rested at the end of a winding staircase. While most of Uryu's house was very modern and fancy in its own right, the loft had a barn-like, vintage feel to it. The high-ceiling ran until the far end of the corridor, only interrupted by a grandiose chandelier.

The three friends paused, huffing out breaths as they took a breather.

"I really thought he was going to kick us out," Orihime said, dusting off her school skirt as she straightened.

Ichigo scoffed. The whole reason she'd been pushed ahead of himself and Chad was the fact that she was a certified parent-charmer and had the ability to thaw the hearts of even the coldest and most suspicious adults. _And_ the fact that she had a) been here before and b) was not Ichigo.  


"Are we gonna talk about the bathrobe?" Ichigo mentioned, shrugging when Orihime and Chad gave him Looks. It wasn’t like they hadn’t thought about it, either and he had never been one to let the elephant in the room go unnoticed for the sake of tact or propriety.  


"I've never been to Ishida-kun's room before," Orihime marveled, ignoring him as they went further along the corridor. There were paintings on the walls, all expensive-looking and clearly commissioned by household names. She turned over her shoulder. “Do you think he has a coat rack for his capes?”  


Ichigo snickered. “Noob.”  


Chad scratched his goatee. “Probably not,” he mused. “A walk-in closet, maybe.”

“Oh, good one, Chad,” Ichigo cheered, probably assuming Chad was roasting him. He was not. He was simply making clinical observations, but he allowed Ichigo to run with it.  


They reached a long door at the end of the corridor. Suddenly, all three friends turned hesitant. Uryu was a big fan of privacy; they didn’t exactly know what was waiting for them behind those doors and they were a little uncertain to find out. Besides, his presence had become a rarity after the war, restricted to passing him by in school and seeing him on occasion at the groceries. They never _really_ talked about these things, but the undercurrent of it was just _there,_ a presence that made itself aware among the three friends.  


They stared at each other for only a moment's worth of hesitation.  


Then, Ichigo, who never had the patience or self-preservation to muck around, kicked open the door with a single foot. Surprisingly, it creaked ajar, paving way into a cool, dark bedroom that smelled like Uryu and air-freshener. The draft of it blew out, mixing with the warmth of the outside air. They stepped in quietly, without further ado.  


Ichigo glanced around the room. He hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly hadn’t been...this. On the far end of the room, vintage looking diagrams of the human anatomy had been pinned to a wall for -- seemingly -- the Aesthetic. Like Chad had predicted, there was a pocket in his room that opened up to a walk-in closet. And like Ichigo’s own room, there was a bookshelf right by his bedside -- a similarity that slightly perturbed him. Pages and covers of several obscure fashion magazines were tapered onto the blue curtains, parting only slightly to let the morning air in. It was large, but simple. Elusive, even in the privacy of his own space. The only real personalized effect was a half-fixed soft toy resting by a sewing machine on his desk, a glaring contrast from the sharp edges of the room.  


“Ishida,” Chad announced, pointing to the most obvious attraction -- the lump that was crouched under layers and layers of comforters on the bed.  


“Ishida!” Orihime repeated, in a slightly cheerier tone as she launched herself unprompted at the sleeping figure. The bag in her hand went flying askew, but was quickly ignored when they heard a groan from the fortress of blankets. Orihime giggled, settling herself on the general area of his legs.  


Chad stared for a moment, decided the sight was too cute for him to not participate in, and walked straight to Uryu’s bed. Without preamble, he seated himself right on top of Uryu -- or what was presumably Uryu; Ichigo wouldn’t be surprised if there was a body double under there.  


There was a louder groan as the bed sank, Uryu’s head slipping out from his comforter. He didn’t stir.  


Orihime and Chad looked up at Ichigo, both batting their eyelashes pleadingly.  


“Fine,” Ichigo caved, gingerly sitting down on the far edge of Uryu’s bed.  


That was the bellwether. 

“Get off m’bed, Kurosaki,” Uryu gnarled, face still buried in blankets and pillows. Then, he slowly slid up and blinked, regarding all three of his friends with confusion. Without his glasses on, he looked weird, but there was still a critical and acute befuddlement in his eyes. “Er, what are you guys doing here?”  


“It’s your _birthday_ ,” Orihime said, seeming mildly horrified that Uryu hadn’t anticipated or expected that answer. She ducked around his bed, reaching for her bag. “We knit you a scarf!”  


“ _Inoue_ knit you a scarf,” Ichigo corrected, cheeks flushed with heat as he stubbornly turned away.  


“We helped pick the colors,” Chad added, always the beacon of truth between the Orihime’s exaggeration and Ichigo’s reticence.  


Uryu blinked. He ran one hand over his eyes, the silky sleeve of his steel-blue pajamas brushing his face. He didn’t know what he had wished for by the time he opened his eyes -- for his friends to disappear, or for them to have the patience to stay as he got his socially anxious shit together. There was an embarrassing vulnerability in letting your friends see you in pajamas on a school morning, but there were also worse things, he supposed. Like making the mistake of believing oneself to be better off, to be separate from this strange philosophy. This affinity.  


He opened his eyes, ignoring the heat in his cheeks.  


Unsurprisingly, they were still there, looking at him expectantly. Knowingly. No words had to be spoken for all the million things still unsaid between them, still owed from his end.  


“I see,” he said, upon realizing he’d let to long a silence pass. “Thank you, Inoue-san. Sado-kun.” He stared at Kurosaki, hoping that would suffice as gratitude. Kurosaki stared back, but his eyes were relaxed. That was...an acceptable level on the Kurosaki-Ishida Feelings Scale.  


“It’s a team scarf,” Orihime rattled on, deliberately powering through Ichigo and Uryu’s Teen Boy Awkwardness. She lifted it out of the bag and tossed one end of it at Uryu, “because we’re a team.”

Uryu reached out and examined it. The scratchy wool was striped, a gray-and-white cloth that extended nearly four feet long over the span of his bed. It was neither expensive, nor comfortably soft. It had not the expertise of fine-woven clothing that indicated expert craftsmanship. Hell, it was _flimsy_. There were a thousand things to nitpick, thousand loose threads that were already coming off.  


But when he lifted his eyes, Orihime and Ichigo were already looping it around their necks. Chad was ducking around to make room for himself, looping in and drawing out the scarf so there was enough for Uryu to drape around his own neck.  


He felt like there was a metaphor for his life in there somewhere. An unspoken white flag waved, past misdemeanors forgiven despite not being forgotten. A place for him at the table, somehow, despite it all.  


“Happy birthday,” Chad said, gesturing him to accept it, “Ishida.”  


Orihime nodded, her face beaming with the sheer happiness of just being here, with them. Ichigo imitated her, his mouth morphing into a lopsided half-grin.  


Uryu felt himself smiling back. He reached out for the scarf, feeling his nimble fingers already navigating the coarse thread.  


When he wrapped the scarf around his own neck, he realized the stupidity of this situation. The sheer ridiculousness of sitting on his bed on a Monday morning, in his pajamas, on his 18th birthday, wearing a _scarf_.

A team scarf.  


Uryu’s smile widened into a grin.  


  


  


  


  


  



	5. fair-weathered hearts (renruki)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rukia is hurt after a particularly bad heist and as things usually go in Inuzuri, Renji is there to patch her right back up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this idea floating around but no motivation to write it until **polynya** mentioned being disappointed over the lack of RenRuki content. If I had the spoons, I'm sure this would be long and meaningful but for now it's just short and fluffy.

If Renji's hands had not been occupied, he would have swung open the door to their ramshackle hut perfectly fine.

But as things stood, his hands were busy.

"Renji, it _hurts_ ," Rukia hissed, her grip tightening on his thin shoulders.

"I know, I know," he grumbled, kicking the creaking door ajar with one foot as he hobbled their collective weight into their home. Upon hearing the roughness of his own tone, he softened. "I'm sorry, Rukia. Just stay put, alright? I'm gonna let you down and go see if we have any supplies left over from Fujimaru's raid."

"No!" Rukia shouted, fists tightening on Renji's tattered clothes like it would stop him from leaving. Then, realizing what she'd done, she flushed but maintained an adamant stare at him. She was injured, wasn't she? She was allowed to be a little bit of a brat. "You got me in this mess, the least you could do is take me with you,” she justified, haughtily. 

Renji bristled, but hauled her over to the counter nonetheless. He set her down unceremoniously, and -- just to be aggravating -- poked his tongue out at her, a trait he supposed he'd picked up from Rukia herself. Satisfied that his actions had pushed her buttons enough to earn a small, irritated huff from her, he began scrambling around their stash of supplies to look for something that could help with Rukia's injury.

The way it worked with the two of them and their friends was that there was a rota. Fujimaru and Mameji scoured the Western districts, Kosaburou went into town for work, and Renji and Rukia were in charge of the East. A shuffle here, a little quick-thinking there, and the ragtag crew of hunter-gatherers would eventually bring enough resources down to their hideout. Food, clothing, maybe a few toys nicked from the rich families that occasionally bothered to venture out into Rukon. It was a good system. Renji had devised it himself.

Which was probably why Rukia had all but thrown it in the discards in favor of exploring a distant, but alluring property of cornfields owned by some noble asshat up in Seireitei. It was dangerous, unnecessary even, but Rukia had this way of breaking the rules and making it look cool, so naturally Renji had followed her. 

Unfortunately, despite being tucked into the heart of Rukon, the isolated property had been heavily booby-trapped. Guards of nobility had their pockets filled to the brim enough to think scraggly kids could pose much of a threat to their bounty. It was far more dangerous than they'd thought. 

So, Renji had done what anyone would have done. The second Rukia’s foot had caught in a steel-jaw trap, he’d tossed her over his shoulder and bucked it out of there, one taunting curse word over his shoulder at a time. It had been exhilarating and loud, maybe even fun in the routine sense that they had been running for their lives. 

Staring at her ugly, swollen and blistering foot now, however, a tiny part of him wanted to wave his hands in front of her face and shout, _'I told you so!'_

But the part of him that knew how to read her wobbly chin, her hard set eyes that tried their damnedest not to cry -- that was the part of him that won out in the end. Rukia, for all her outward bravado, had skin just as tender as any of them. And as otherworldly as she was, she bruised. Often. That much set her in the same bracket as the rest of them, in Renji’s eyes at least.

"What are you looking at?" Rukia demanded, her voice thin and watery as she crossed her arms. "Are you gonna help me out or what?"

Renji sighed, then fished out the cleanest rag he could find in the heap of clothing. He dragged it over to the fire, where he’d set the water to boil. Testing the warmth with one hand, he dipped the rag a few times for good measure, then brought it up to Rukia’s foot. 

“Here.” He pat his thigh. She wordlessly plopped her leg over it and watched as he meticulously observed her wound. There was a bruising, jagged line over her heel where it had caught in the trap. Renji was by no means a healer, but he figured cleaning the wound would be the best way to go about it. 

“S’gonna hurt,” he warned.

“Do your worst,” she bit back, gnawing her lip as color drained from her face.

Renji ran the cloth under the arc of her heel tentatively.

“Renji,” Rukia whimpered, unable to hold back a heavy curse. “ _Renji_.”

Renji grit his teeth, ignoring the beads of sweat that poured down his forehead as he did his best to fix her. He had _told_ her this would be dangerous and now she was _hurt_. 

“Fuck, it hurts --!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he replied, willing his coarse hands to be gentler. One of Rukia’s hands shot out, so he grabbed it and squeezed as he continued wiping her wound clean. Their fingers intertwined, small and stubby with sweat, but tight. “You’re gonna be okay, just...just hold on.” 

He reached out behind her and crumbled some dirt in his fist, rubbing it over to close the wound. The angry red splotches of her foot turned muddy brown, the seemingly torn skin sticky as he ran his fingers over it. True to his word, he’d somehow managed to do it. He pulled back a few seconds later, critically examining his handiwork. 

Rukia flexed her foot. “It looks clean,” she said shakily, before locking gazes with him. 

Renji rolled his eyes and tossed the rag with a free hand, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. His other hand was still in hers, but neither of them mentioned it.

“You’re such an idiot, you know that?” he asked, gently bonking her forehead with the back of his knuckle. 

She lunged upwards to bite it, but slumped back when she felt a jolt of pain surge through her foot. Renji reached forward, but paused when she held her hand out to stop him. Blinking back a few stinging tears from her eyes, she stared at him. 

He stared back. 

Then, almost as if in some sort of kinetic motion, they both began laughing. Loud, short snorts and howls that rang through their empty house. As the weight of his worries dissipated with his shaking shoulders, Renji supposed this _would_ make one hell of a story to tell the others. 

“Renji,” Rukia said, taking a breath. Her eyes were bright, flushed in the way they’d often be after she laughed. Otherworldly. They softened with guilt, however, when she looked at him. “M’sorry. I could have gotten us into a lot of shit.”

Renji shrugged, brushing it off. Now that he had this grand ol’ apology, he realized he didn’t really care much for it. “Mame’s gonna be jealous, though,” he pointed out. “He’d been yapping for ages about wantin’ to see one of them traps in person.”

Rukia snorted, shaking her head. “Then I guess he’s gonna burn when he sees,” she fished her hand into her faded robes, drawing out one ear of corn in her small hand with a devious grin, “this.”

Renji gaped. “You sly little shit.” 

Rukia chuckled, throwing one hand around Renji’s shoulders to support her weight. “If you carry me to the outgrowth I’ll consider splitting this with you.”

Renji furrowed his brows, tapping his chin dramatically. “Well, you have been kinda rude to me, y’know,” he said. 

“Shut up,” she retorted, shrieking in laughter when he tucked his arm around her waist and yanked her to his side. “You’re such an idiot, Renji.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said dismissively, ignoring the dull pain in his back to uphold her weight in his arms again. “Hold tight.”

He stepped away from the counter, beginning his march to the little outgrowth behind their hut. 

Rukia locked her arms around his neck, grinning the whole way there. 


	6. shining just for you (tatsuhime)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orihime's not above saying she's in love, she's just never particularly found the courage to admit to being in love with her best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found this in my drafts and while I am *technically* on hiatus rn, I just wanted some soft wlw out there that I wrote solely for me. 
> 
> Tags: coming to terms with sexuality/identity, girls being soft, mostly an AU bc I didn't have the spoons to work canon into this.

It's instinctual, is the thing.

Tatsuki, to her credit, is all scruffy edges and bruised knuckles but there's a warmth to her fingertips when she touches Orihime -- some kind of bottled electricity that's almost embarrassing, considering Tatsuki touches her all the time.

An arm around her shoulders, fingertips brushing her knees gently when she bruises from a totally avoidable fall, an elbow grab when she nearly bumps into some unsuspecting but incredibly hormonal boy from grade nine.

The point is, she should be used to this. They're all casual touches, joined at the hip and perfectly in sync to the point where Tatsuki's brief inhales come out of Orihime's own mouth in dreamy sighs.

And they're so synchronized by now that Orihime would have said in complete confidence to anyone who asks that there is nothing in this world Tatsuki could do that would ever  _ truly _ surprise her.

That's the case at least, until they're lying on Tatsuki's couch one day, watching some daytime drama that neither of them really care about, and her heart hitches in hummingbird flutters against her ribcage when Tatsuki asks her, randomly, if she's ever kissed a girl.

_ No _ , obviously, is the readymade response on Orihime's tongue. It's a close second to,  _ why?  _ And a narrow third from,  _ are you offering? _

The third makes her flush rather deeply, taken aback by her own forwardness with the assumption. Tatsuki, in their nine years together, has been all but an open book about her love for girls, but her feelings for  _ Orihime _ have always drawn up a question mark. An ambiguous throb in the back of her mind...a trickling what-if that lingers in the spaces between their knuckles where their joined hands meet.

"I...no," Orihime says slowly, eyes carefully avoiding Tatsuki's. She doesn't know what she's afraid to see in them, but she knows she's afraid and that's reason enough to stare at her knee caps.

"Have you ever thought about it?" Tatsuki goes on, normal as ever like they're talking about the weather. And Orihime supposes it  _ is _ normal for Tatsuki, who's always been an incredible kisser but flighty lover -- or so she's heard from the string of girlfriends that stuck around long enough for her to meet.

But kisses are important to Orihime and more so  _ first kisses _ . It's silly and ritualistic, she knows, but there are things she holds sacred and kisses happen to be one of them.  _ First kisses. _

She's so caught up in the heat building in her ears that she almost forgets to answer. Tatsuki waits, however, her curiosity watchful and casual in the same breath.

"I have," Orihime replies finally, her voice reduced to a slight tremble.

It's true that most of her adolescence was dedicated to drawing hearts and fantasizing about her dream wedding to boyband members all the way in America that had no idea she existed.

But it's also true that she's watched the contours of Tatsuki's mouth more often than not, around water bottles and apple slices and innocuous sticks of lip balm.

Orihime averts her gaze with a flush.

"Hey," Tatsuki runs her fingers under Orihime's chin, lifting her face so they can look at each other. Her smile is calm, but her eyes seem...almost disappointed? Orihime can't read her that well anymore, the threads of this conversation skirting into vastly uncharted territory. "It was just a question."

Orihime smiles back hesitantly and the conversation moves on to that season's play-offs and some new way Tatsuki's mom has found to annoy the living crap out of her.

Orihime listens dutifully, but she can't help but feel Tatsuki's disappointment (was it, even?) lingering in her own chest.

In sync, like she said. Instinctual.

.-.

"You know, I'm really not the person you wanna ask about this kind of stuff," Kurosaki Ichigo says, running one hand awkwardly along the back of his neck.

He's not someone Orihime is close to, by any stretch of imagination, but he's tall and his mouth tilts funny when he scowls sometimes. There's also the fact that he's always kind to her, always polite on the rare occasion they manage to speak to each other.

Maybe, in another life, she could have fallen for him. She could feel the phantom pangs of it cocoon her heart, anyway and she's sure there's a universe out there where he has her heart, even just a smidge of it.

That universe is not this one, however, and Orihime finds it pertinent to find a second opinion that no, Tatsuki-chan did not ask about kisses with an intent to, well kiss her.

Maybe she was just curious.

"I just want to know what you think," Orihime said good-naturedly, locking her hands behind her back. "You knew her long before I did."

Ichigo's eyes soften in agreement, and he concedes with a nod. "I suppose you're right," he mumbles, more than a little confused about the nuances of romances. He's not the brightest tool in the shed when it comes to girls, but he does know Tatsuki well enough to know she appreciates a little straightforwardness with her personal relationships. "Maybe you should just talk to her."

Orihime's eyes widen. " _ Talk _ to her?"

Ichigo shrugs. "I mean, if you want to know what she meant, just ask her," he says. "Either she wants to kiss you or not, which is what you want to know, I'm guessing." He crosses his arms authoritatively. "Either way, I don't think Tatsuki's gonna make it awkward. You guys are tight, right?" Then, he sighs. "Sorry, I'm not much help, am I?"

Orihime smiles, shaking her head.

"You were being perfectly helpful, Kurosaki-kun," she says cheerfully, laughing at his dubious scoff.

.-.

She doesn't take Ichigo's advice, unsurprisingly. There's not a lot she's uncomfortable talking to Tatsuki about, but it seems as if kissing is one of them.

Besides, it seems like Tatsuki's got something else on her mind tonight. They're lying in Tatsuki’s bed, face-to-face, six inches apart, with Orihime's prize-winning essay resting between them in the space between pillows.

_ 'Who Am I' _ was the prompt, a rather simplistic suggestion that Orihime had turned into an introspective piece about transhumanism and identity existing beyond the physical body. 

It’s a little dreamy, far too influenced by a book she was reading, but in her teacher’s eyes it sure beat the barrage of  _ ‘eighteen, baseball fan, animal lover’ _ variations that had been turned in. 

Orihime’s honestly a bit embarrassed by it. 

"You're fucking brilliant," Tatsuki says with a wide grin, only turning wider when pink spills across Orihime's cheeks. “Only you could make a whole essay about  _ robots  _ into something that makes half-sense.” 

Orihime pouts playfully, doesn’t catch Tatsuki’s eyes fall to the shiny-pink of her lips as she bubbles up in protest, “It doesn’t make half-sense, it makes  _ full sense _ ,” she says primly. “And it's not about robots, really. It’s about...the little things that make you who you are that you can’t really see, you know? The things  _ beyond  _ your body that are still important.” 

Tatsuki hums. Most days, she entertains Orihime’s dreamy rambles with an amused grin or a rare bout of practicality, but today, she seems content with staring at the ceiling in contemplation. 

Orihime rolls over to her side, running one hand tentatively up Tatsuki’s arm. “What are you thinking about?” she asks softly. 

Tatsuki turns to her and they hold gazes for a minute, nothing but curious silence undulating between them. It’s a long time before she replies, says ‘it’s nothing’ and latches onto other things before Orihime can get the chance to weedle it out of her. 

It’s later that night, when the lights are off in every room but Tatsuki’s, that the slumbery heaviness of sleepovers set in. Orihime’s dragging on a pair of Tatsuki’s shorts over her hips while she idly listens to the sounds of Tatsuki brushing in the bathroom. The shorts are tight over her hips, definitely a lot less baggy on her than they were on Tatsuki, but they hold the faint and homely smell of Tatsuki’s laundry and she quite likes the comfort of it. Even if it makes her a little self conscious about how her body fills clothes with an embarrassing ease. 

When Tatsuki comes out, her eyes fall on the shorts but she says nothing. They amble to the bed and plop in heavily, familiar with the rhythm of things between them. It’s only when Tatsuki turns on her side and regards her with hesitance that Orihime realizes it's going to be one of those nights, where their fears and insecurities come crawling out in conservations till dawn and by morning, they’d be curled in each other's arms. 

“I bought these in the boys’ section,” Tatsuki says gently, running one finger along the length of Orihime’s shorts until it reaches a point where Orihime isn’t sure they’re  _ really  _ talking about shorts anymore. Her finger lingers over the plush hollow of Orihime’s hip, then lifts off her entirely. When she looks up, her eyes have hardened into something wild, anxious. “Mom kinda...Mom kinda joked about how I’m old enough for frills now.” She makes a face. “You know how she is.”

Orihime nods, feeling a pulse of protectiveness course through her veins. Suddenly, all this talk about her essay starts to make sense in a vague, puzzle piece-ish way. She turns fully until she and Tatsuki are face-to-face, cupping the latter’s cheek tenderly. “Tatsuki-chan should wear whatever Tatsuki-chan wants,” she says confidently, then spares a soft smile as she adds, “and be whoever she wants to be.” 

Tatsuki looks surprised. “And what if I don’t know who that is?” she mumbles, fingers playing with the shared blanket between them. 

Orihime lifts her chin back up so their eyes can meet. “Then we can figure it out together,” she says, with a tone of finality in her voice. 

Tatsuki smiles, leans over Orihime’s shoulder to click off the bedside lamp. Once the room is drowned in darkness again, Tatsuki is back by her side, perhaps a little closer than she was before. 

Maybe it’s the darkness of the room or the tender vulnerability that comes with being sleepy with the one you love, but Orihime runs a finger along the little ball-and-socket of Tatsuki’s shoulder, some kind of magnetism drawing her closer until their faces are inches apart. 

It isn’t until she stops halfway, suddenly shy and hesitant, that Tatsuki leans in and finishes the kiss for her. 

.-.

Life goes on, normal as ever, but things change between them. Fleeting touches from before linger a little longer; Tatsuki’s fingers stroke Orihime’s hair, casual as ever during lunch while Orihime finds excuses to scoot in, leans into Tatsuki’s warmth whenever she finds reason. Things are the same too, the way Tatsuki opens her jars and tucks wildflowers into her ears, but it all feels...colored by something else. Rose-tinted. 

Something crucial has shifted in this little shared universe of theirs, slightly off axis in an excitable swoop that neither of them really put a name to. 

It isn’t until Ichigo asks her if they’re dating when Orihime wonders if  _ that’s  _ what this is. She must have a look on her face because he looks a little sheepish; he apologizes for misreading the room, but she’s only half-listening at this point.

Tatsuki hasn’t kissed her since that night in her bedroom and Orihime can’t find it in her to bring it up. Not without the flood of what-ifs and if-nots that fill her ears to the brim with nervousness. She knows she’s not -- she winces at the term -- like the other girls in Tatsuki’s history, but she knows she isn’t exclusive either. 

And the in-betweenness makes her a little more fidgety than she’d like to admit. 

“Maybe I  _ should  _ talk to her,” she says and Ichigo scoffs. 

.-.

The Arisawas have her over for Christmas. It’s almost standard protocol by this point, and when Orihime waltzes into their living room, she’s more at home than Tatsuki is. She presses kisses to aunts and grannies’ cheeks, crouches on knees to coo at nieces and nephews. She’s not a puzzle piece that Tatsuki ever reckons she’d been looking for, but it’s startling how well she  _ fits _ . 

When she comes over to Tatsuki and her mom, her nose is still fresh and red from her walk in the snow outside. Tatsuki wonders if they can sneak away upstairs for an hour or two and if anyone would care enough to be suspicious. 

She catches her mother out of the corner of her eye and scoffs. _ More than likely. _

When she glances at Orihime, however, there’s a cheeky smile on her face that makes her want to take that risk. She nudges her mother in the ribs, a little rougher than she should (just for the heck of it) and when her mother turns to her with a frown, she grins and jerks her head to their shed. “Mind if I take Orihime with me to retrieve those bottle openers you’d been asking about?” 

Her mother nods, her relief over chores being done superseding her exasperation of Tatsuki sneaking away during a Christmas party. Tatsuki grabs Orihime’s wrist, drags them out to the back until they’re past the lawn, past Tatsuki’s middle school bike and past all the grannies and aunties that were idle and desperate for conversation. The cold is pleasantly biting and the inviting warmth of the shed makes them gasp for breath over the difference. 

She’s about to open her mouth, ask Orihime if she wants to do something stupid with her, when Orihime blurts, 

“Are we dating?” 

Tatsuki stops in her tracks, wonders which answer Orihime wants -- which one she wouldn’t entirely hate. She doesn’t want to rush Orihime into anything she’s not ready for, but she doesn’t want her best friend to think ‘ _ this’ _ is some temporary, poorly-handled impulse thing either. Orihime’s eyes are bright and expectant, and Tatsuki half-wonders if the redness of her cheeks is really about the weather. 

“I...think so?” Tatsuki offers, then, when Orihime’s face contorts into a frown, she gets enough incentive to be a little bolder. “I mean, I want us to be -- if we hadn’t been already.”

Orihime giggles, lets out a tiny sigh of relief. Then, her eyes grow serious. “I...I don’t know what I am...like, what I’m into,” she says timidly, staring at her fingernails. “But I want to try, with you. If that’s okay.” 

Tatsuki lets out a breath herself, elbowing Orihime lightly. “Of course it is, you dolt,” she says lightly, tugging Orihime’s wrist to draw her closer. “Don’t overthink this. We’ll take it slow, yeah? One day at a time?” 

“Of course,” she says, the clouded worry on her face immediately clearing up with her smile. “One day at a time.”

Warmth blossoms in Tatsuki’s chest. She nods, then regards the crate of bottle openers. “We should probably take those in.” 

“Wait!” Orihime splutters, before Tatsuki can withdraw from her hold. When they stop and stare at each other, Tatsuki makes a questioning murmur. Orihime blushes. “Can we...pretend there’s a mistletoe above us right now?” 

It comes out in a whisper, but Orihime determinedly holds her gaze. Tatsuki barks out a short laugh, leaning forward and cupping her cheeks before staring up at the ceiling. “We really should have put some up, huh?” 

“We could always use our imagination,” Orihime suggests, wiggling her nose cutely as their faces inch close enough for frosty breaths to exchange between them. 

Tatsuki chuckles, then leans in to press her lips full against Orihime’s. The kiss is tender and soft, then full of teeth and tongue as they playfully push and pull at each other. Orihime’s hands are soft and gentle on her back, and she gives some teasing squeezes of her own before they pull apart. 

“Gosh, I could get used to this,” Tatsuki says, startling herself when a nervous laugh spills out of her. 

Orihime smiles, then leans her head against Tatsuki’s shoulder. “Me too.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. the center of the universe (IchiHime)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Orihime looks at all the things that are there; and all the things that aren't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **scrapbread** asked: Can I request for angst-y or fluffy IchiHime please? Not too choosy about either, so feel free to take of it how you will!
> 
> I have a lot of feelings about how Ichigo is a brother and Orihime is a sister and this is kind of...angst about that???

i. Orihime sees the way his sisters look at him sometimes and there's the strongest lurch ever, tugging at her heart. She sees it all -- the _'welcome home onii-chan'_ s and the laughter and the relief that unfailingly pass their eyes every time he comes down from uni to visit.

And if she's bring truly honest with herself, a part of her heart is razored whenever she sees them. The raw ache that comes with losing the one you love, it never _really_ goes away. And there's something to be said about waiting by the doorway faithfully or watching your brother's shoulders tighten with worries he'll never tell you about that's so painfully familiar that sometimes she has to look away. Has to remind herself that history will not repeat itself the way it had with her and that this is Ichigo, the same Ichigo that has the audacity to look fate in the eye and shatter it. To crawl back from the dead because he was needed.

If she's learned anything about older brothers at all, it's how much they're needed.

That's probably why she only laughs softly when Ichigo huffs in frustration about Yuzu making him yet another bento box when he's ("twenty-two years old, damn it") fully capable of making food for himself.

"Honestly, I've lived alone for like two years now," he complained. "Does she really think I don't eat when I'm away from home?"

It's a sister's love language, she thinks. Crafted from the purposeful distance that brothers keep, the only way they can truly connect through all the fake smiles and _'don't worry about me's._ He's noticed her silence at his point, and he raises his brow with a slight frown.

"What?"

She shakes her head and smiles. "She misses you. Let her worry about you while she still can."

His face softens at her words, and this, she thinks-- _this_ is her reminder that the world might be dark, and people might disappear, but Ichigo will never, ever leave them behind.

History will not repeat itself with Yuzu and Karin Kurosaki and Orihime finds herself sleeping all the more better at night for it.

**__________**

ii. They visit the clinic together sometimes, on the weekends he's home and she's off from work. Something about the way he doesn't rub his neck awkwardly or apologize for them anymore like he used to, back in the early days of their relationship, sends flutters to her belly. The way they walk through the doorway, normal as ever, like he's expecting her to be used to this. Maybe he'll send a weary sigh or a good-natured eye roll, but he doesn't apologize for Isshin's teasing, or Yuzu's nosiness or Karin's attitude and it's...it's different.

She doesn't think she'll ever get used to being a part of his life like _this_ , but it means a lot to her-- this little change in his behaviour. More than she thinks he'll ever know.

They're watching television in the Kurosaki living room one day, her, Karin and Yuzu. Ichigo's long been sent on a grocery store trip and there's a music video playing that's definitely Chinese or Korean. Yuzu is really into dance now, all fancy manoeuvres and pirouettes as she watches the older boys dance on stage. It's all adorable and nostalgic, Orihime thinks, delightfully bobbing her head whenever Yuzu turns back for approval.

"You missed a step," Karin points out without looking up from her phone, just to get under her sister's skin. "Dancing is so lame, anyway, what's the point if you're only gonna perform for us and oyaji?"

Predictably enough, a flash of hurt crosses Yuzu's eyes and she stomps haughtily before turning on her heel. "Well," she huffs. "Hime-nee doesn't think dancing is lame, do you, Hime-nee?"

Karin rolls her eyes.

"W-well...! Of course not," Orihime says softly, feeling torn between which twin's approval was on the line here this time, and the funny feeling in her belly whenever Ichigo's sister had started using that suffix for her off late. "You dance very well, Yuzu-chan!"

And really, that's the line, isn't it? Yuzu's eyes grow hopefully wide -- even as Karin snorts in the background -- and before Orihime can even process it, she's grabbing her hand insistently. "Will you let me teach you how to dance, Hime-nee? Oh I'm sure you'd look _so pretty_ doing it!"

Orihime turns scarlet, heat flushing her ears. "Oh, I don't know. I'm very clumsy."

"Don't make her uncomfortable or you'll make Ichi-nii upset, Yuzu," Karin warns. "You don't want a repeat of the spaghetti nightmare do you?"

Isshin hadn't heard the end of it from Ichigo for at least a month after that one.

Yuzu's face falters for the slightest of seconds, before she's pasting on a cordial smile again, brushing her off rapidly like it's nothing.

 _"She's had to grow up pretty fast,"_ Orihime recalls Ichigo saying and suddenly, she finds herself standing up -- much to Yuzu and Karin's surprise.

"It's okay, I'll dance with you," she says with a bright smile, "But you'll really have to correct me where I'm wrong, Yuzu-chan, I'm a terrible dancer."

Yuzu grins wide, then ushers Orihime to her feet as the music kicks back up again. It's so easy to please her, this little girl that keeps them all together, Orihime doesn't feel very bad about bumbling her way through a very complicated dance routine for her-- just a little embarrassed.

Ultimately, whatever song Yuzu picks is complicated but _hard_. She can't really keep up with half the steps those boys are doing, but Yuzu doesn't seem too picky to actually pinpoint her mistakes or reprimand her. She's nearly bent over, half out of breath and wheezing at some point, when she hears someone clearing their throat from behind her. The music pauses and Orihime straightens to see Ichigo leaning against the door, eyebrows raised.

"Onii-chan, you're back!" Yuzu cheers, oblivious to Orihime's embarrassment at being caught by her boyfriend doing the silliest thing. She hurries over to Ichigo and grabs his arm, tugging him to the living room. "I taught Hime-nee how to dance."

Ichigo's mouth twitches, just the slightest hint of laughter before it straightens into a line again. "What, the choreo from Beachtan Boys again?"

Karin snorts, meeting his eyes with an amused smirk as she shakes her head. "Strike one, Ichi-nii."

"It's _Bangtan_ ," Yuzu corrects, eyebrows knit in annoyance at her brother.

"Tomato, Tom-ah-to," he dismissies with a grin, ruffling Yuzu's hair when she pouts. This seems to placate her enough to switch off the television and scurry back to the kitchen to get started on dinner. Karin leaves too, and Orihime moves to go help them, but Ichigo grabs her elbow.

"So," he says quietly, fighting a smile. "When are you showing me this dance routine of yours?"

Orihime frowns. "Your sister _asked_ me to join her, you know? I thought it would be rude to decline."

He chuckles warmly, a not entirely unpleasant sound, but she ignores him, nose upturned because honestly she was a _little_ embarrassed.

"Hey." He nudges her. "I was kidding."

She relaxes. "Kidding?"

"Uh-huh. I do that sometimes."

She smiles. "Do you?" she says rhetorically, curling her hand around his elbow so he can lead them to the kitchen. But he doesn't move. When she turns to look at him, he's staring at her.

"You know," he starts hesitantly, scratching his cheek. "You don't have to do whatever my sisters ask you to. This isn't," he pauses, then says lowly, "a test. You can say no if you're uncomfortable."

Orihime watches for a split second, and then tugs him closer until they're standing one foot apart, pressing a sudden kiss to his cheek. He blushes and gasps, considering they don't do this very often when his family is around.

"You don't have to apologise for them," she assures him, pulling back. "I like your family a lot, and I want you to believe me when I say I'm not uncomfortable around them."

He nods, eyebrows relaxing as he grabs her hand.

"They like you too, you know," he says quietly. "It's like a contest in here, trying to see who's the craziest about you."

Orihime's eyes widen in amusement. "Oh?" she asks, playing along, letting him lead her to the kitchen where everyone else is. "Who's winning, then? Your father?"

Ichigo pauses, a slight darkness rising to his cheeks as he looks around. When he realises the coast is clear, his eyes meet hers, dark and intense. "Me."

And oh, how the butterflies soar.

**__________**

iii. They're in bed one night, Ichigo's cheek rising and falling with the slow movement of her chest. It's quiet here, cold and warm wherever their bodies touch and miss the sheets. Serene. Her fingers scratch the nape of his neck idly, the way he once confessed to her that his mother used to. He's awake, but barely, and she can't help but surge with the pure _feeling_ of having him in her arms like this -- safe and vulnerable in a way he doesn't allow himself to be, most of the time.

"They love you so much," she says, more to herself than him, really.

He raises his head and blinks. "Huh? Who?"

"Your sisters," she says, pushing his hair from his forehead with her palm, watching it ripple in the low light.

One day, Ichigo will walk Yuzu and Karin down the aisle and sit front row at their graduation. He'll wipe their tears and make them laugh like he always did-- see all the things Sora never got to see -- and she's torn between feeling happy for him and missing her brother with the acuity of a toothache.

Ichigo's eyes narrow in concern when she sniffles and he forces himself up on one elbow until their positions are flipped. "What's wrong?"

One day, he'll be a father to a cherub-faced baby (or babies). A husband to just a simple girl that loves him so much it _hurts_. A son to a father he's surpassed in every way and a mother he'll never leave behind. Friend to those that owe him more than he'd be morally comfortable accepting.

A brother to two sisters who'll never know the pain of a world without him.

"You're the center," she says, dragging him down to kiss her until her lungs ache and burn for reprieve. "You're the center of our universe."

**_____________**

iv. On their wedding day, Ichigo is supposed to make a speech. It's an obligatory thing, a little gratitude piece for everyone that took the time out to join them on their special day.

He's nervous, she can tell; the paper in his hand flutters, even though there's not the slightest breeze in the air that afternoon. They wrote it together, the speech, and he's read and re-read it enough to be able to tuck it in his pocket and speak freely to their audience.

"We wanted to take this time to thank everyone for coming out to give us your well-wishes," he begins, ignoring the teasing snickers from school friends and people who'd seen him far from the formalities he was putting on at the moment. "The thing is, there's people that we -- both Orihime and I -- wish were here with us today." His voice works around a crack that she's sure he'll be needlessly embarrassed about later. The room grows quiet. When their gazes lock briefly, she's not at all surprised that her eyes are wet too.

"But we're also grateful to every single person with us right now, the people here to celebrate with us and help mark the beginning of our journey. Thank you all for your support and your love, we won't be forgetting it."

When he eventually sits back down, she squeezes his hand and he squeezes tightly back. The afternoon is pleasant, the long dinner table crowded with happy faces that fill her heart up to its very chasm. And when they turn to smile at each other, they forget to look around the room for all that isn't there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> send me prompts on [Tumblr,](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kazeshini-s) if you want


	8. for the woman who has everything (Rukia-centric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Karakura kids help Rukia get ready for a date. Well, sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to crawl out of my fandom hiatus to write a thing for Rukia's birthday. Barest hints of RenRuki. Title is inspired by the Batman/Superman comic 'For The Man Who Has Everything' where Batman has to figure out what to get Superman as a present for his birthday. This fic isn't really similar, but the title had a ring to it and I wanted to pay homage to my DC roots. 
> 
> Happy belated birthday to Rukia! Unparalleled frost queen of my heart.

It was in utmost confidence that Kuchiki Rukia, on an otherwise plain Thursday night, had revealed to Inoue Orihime that she was nervous.

See, Kuchiki Rukia didn’t _get_ nervous. Not on the outside, at least. Years of holding herself together – for the sake of her own survival, for the sake of her brother’s image, for the sake of keeping herself and Ichigo put-together from one supernatural small-town crisis to the next – it wasn’t very often that she was _allowed_ to get nervous. 

Which was why she could say in complete honesty that a potential date with her best friend of decades left her…a little discomfited.

Orihime, obviously, was thrilled. Her hands cupped her own face in excitement, cheeks flushed as she squealed, “So cute!”

Rukia frowned. “Not cute,” she replied grumpily. “Renji and I have known each other for literal decades. For all we know, this could go terribly and we might never speak to each other again.”

That…was being slightly hyperbolic. Rukia knew if they could survive Rukon, her execution, two wars, and a bunch of shit in between, they could survive one bad date. But she didn’t _want_ it to be a bad date, and there lay the distinction she hadn’t wanted herself to pick up on.

“ _Or_ ,” Orihime sang, locking eyes with Rukia in the mirror from where she was brushing her obscenely long hair, “It could go really well and you and Abarai-kun might end up realizing that this was a really good idea.” She set down her brush. “I mean, you said it yourself, Kuchiki-san. You know each other really well; so there’s definitely no risk of it being awkward or _bad_.”

Rukia sighed, flopping back on Orihime’s bean bag. “I hate it when you’re right,” she muttered, even though she didn’t. Truth be told, Orihime was the one person she could trust _not_ to make fun of her in this circumstance. While she could close her eyes and stick her sword into Ichigo’s chest with the reassurance that he’d turn out okay – could follow him to distant lands and be absolutely certain they’d come out _just fine_ – she couldn’t exactly tell him this. Not without the risk of him teasing her or spouting some stupid Ichigo reassurance that only sounded reassuring in his head.

She couldn’t exactly discuss this with Renji either.

And that left her pretty lacking in alternative options. Of her only three best friends in three entire planes of existence, Orihime was the only one who took feelings seriously – both her own, and that of others.

“Where are you guys going for your date?” Orihime was asking, crawling up to Rukia on her knees until they were eye-to-eye. She was in those ridiculous Chappy pajamas Rukia had bought for her – the pink one with the little hearts for eyes. She’d got one for Ichigo too – lime green fabric with clown noses – but he hadn’t exactly been grateful.

Yet another reason Orihime won the best friend contest.

“We’re going to a bar,” she stated primly, ignoring Orihime’s surprised ‘oh.’ “Renji offered to take me someplace upscale, but I don’t want to make this like a Thing, y’know. I just want us to do what we usually do but…”

“Romantic?” Orihime suggested kindly, clasping her hands on her kneecaps.

“Yeah,” Rukia grumbled.

“Off to a great start already, then,” Orihime replied, then her eyes widened with afterthought. “Oh, but what will you be wearing, Kuchiki-san? Do you have casual clothing in Soul Society or do shinigami spend most of their time in their uniforms?”

Rukia pondered her answer. Orihime had stayed at the Kuchiki Manor, yes, but they had spent most of their time training and it occurred to Rukia that she might not have gotten the time to see how they lived. “We do have casual clothing,” she replied slowly, “but the place Renji and I wanted to go is modelled after the Living World, so I don’t necessarily have to wear what I would usually wear on an outing.”

“You can wear dresses?” Orihime asked in quiet excitement, her honey-brown eyes already gleaming to the brim.

“I can wear dresses, yes,” Rukia agreed hesitantly. “Though I kinda just wanted to wing it, y’know? Maybe wear dungarees or something? Dresses seem a bit much. We don’t have to make this like, a Thing.” She stared at her hands, missing the way Orihime’s eyebrows narrowed sympathetically.

“Well, either way,” she said cheerfully, “You know what this calls for.”

Rukia raised her eyebrows. “What?”

Orihime’s face nearly split apart with a grin. “A shopping trip!”

x.x

Karakura, unfortunately, only had one mall and being in gigai and limiters meant Isshin had to drive them there. Rukia had never been a Living World teenager but she assumed that was an embarrassing thing, considering how much Ichigo had bitched and groaned about not being allowed to touch the car despite having a license.

In fact, even as they approached their destination, he was scowling with his hands in his pockets. A middle-aged woman exited the store with her daughter. The moving LED poster of the (presumably famous) actress flickered into a ‘25% off’ on summer clothing advertisement. Ichigo tsk-ed.

“I didn’t ask you to come,” Rukia said icily, for the billionth time.

“I know,” Ichigo replied, in kind. She could hear the little beeps and clinks from that stupid mobile game he was playing as they waited. “I told you Chad wanted to hang out, too. He’s got a rare weekend off from work.”

“Well this was supposed to be mine and Inoue’s quality time together,” she barked back. “No boys allowed.”

“Inoue’s my friend too,” he pointed out idly, tapping his screen, “and she hangs out with us ‘boys’ all the time.”

“That’s only because she doesn’t have anyone else,” Rukia remarked, and immediately knew she was wrong. Orihime had at least a dozen girlfriends, but Rukia was the only one she’d invaded Hueco Mundo _and_ the Royal Realm with, so she supposed they had the market covered on that one.

“Inoue’s really popular actually,” Ichigo said anyway. “She’s got like, fifty best friends.”

Rukia rolled her eyes. “She’s got four, actually, and it’s you, your stupid boys, and the Arisawa girl.”

“And you.”

“And me,” she agreed, crossing her arms.

“And…Renji?” Ichigo asked, raising a brow. “Are they close? I don’t think they’re close.”

“She made him muffins one time.”

“She makes everyone muffins,” he said flatly, like it was an answer.

“Yoo-hoo!”

They swivelled their heads around at the same time to spot Orihime, waving excitedly as she dragged a reluctant-looking Uryu behind her. This immediately sprang red flags among both Ichigo and Rukia as they narrowed their eyes at him.

“What’s he doing here?” Ichigo demanded, voicing Rukia’s opinion as the two came up to them. Having to parade Ichigo around as she shopped for her date was embarrassing enough, she wondered why she had to be put through Uryu’s presence as well.

“I heard there was a summer sale,” Uryu replied coolly, holding Ichigo’s gaze before nodding his head at Rukia. “Besides, Inoue-san asked me to come. Apparently there’s a date in the works.”

Rukia shot Orihime a betrayed glare.

Orihime grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, Kuchiki-san! I know we agreed on just the two of us but I felt like Ishida-kun might be able to help reflect your style better. He’s really good at picking out what’s in season, you know.”

Uryu reddened, but didn’t deny it.

“I suppose,” Rukia admitted, shoving her hands in her own pockets.

“Oh, there’s Chad,” Ichigo said, raising a hand to wave at Chad, who was very slowly walking up to the gang from a good few metres away. He raised his hand to wave back.

Rukia let out an aggravated sigh.

x.x

“So,” Orihime muttered conspiratorially, watching Rukia cop a feel of various t-shirts and dresses as the rest of them trailed a few feet behind her. “She seems to think she’s not allowed to be excited about this.”

“What do you mean?” Chad asked, just as quietly. He had to hunch, considering the rest of them were all at least a foot shorter than him, as well as doubly bent over to meet Orihime’s height.

“Well, whenever we talked about it last night, she downplayed it like it wasn’t a very big deal. She kept brushing me off, saying it was just casual and she didn’t want to make it a Thing, but I thought it was very telling that she did want to make it a Thing, she was just nervous about it.”

They all considered this for a moment.

Then, Ichigo scoffed. “I doubt it, Inoue,” he said. “I mean, it’s _Rukia_. And she’s going on a date with _Renji_. What’s she got to be nervous about? They practically live together anyway.”

Orihime, Chad and Uryu gave him one collective Look that could only be summarized as disappointment.

“What?”

“I mean, it’s the classic shoujo trope, isn’t it?” Orihime explained. “The cool, effortlessly confident girl is nervous because she’s going on a date with the guy she’s liked forever and she’s scared it’ll change their perception of each other. She wants this to go well, but she’s ashamed of it because she’s not used to wanting things like this and it makes her nervous!”

Ichigo paused, regarded Rukia for a moment, and then shook his head. “I think she just ate too much rice for lunch.”

“What are you four whispering over there?” Rukia asked, turning on her heel so suddenly that all four of their backs turned ramrod straight.

“Nothing!” they chorused.

She narrowed her brows, but decided to let it drop. Tugging one sundress out of the rack, she held it out for them to examine. “How’s this?”

It was a simple, blue-and-white thing with pretty little violets printed on the edges of each sleeve. Though, it did seem to be too long for someone of Rukia’s height.

“Maybe we should check the kids section,” Ichigo suggested with a wry grin.

Orihime elbowed him unsubtly, then turned to Rukia with a bright smile. “It looks great, Kuchiki-san,” she said, nodding her head at the group. “Maybe we should keep this as a template in mind while we look for other outfits.”

“What’s wrong with this one?” Rukia frowned.

“It’s a bit…” Uryu began, then cut himself off.

“Plain,” Chad finished for him, and he nodded in agreement.

“Why don’t you wear boot cut jeans?” Ichigo suggested, nodding at a rack not too far off from where they were standing. “I bet you could pull off boot cut jeans.”

“Nobody can pull off boot cut jeans,” Rukia dismissed, crossing her arms. “Besides, I wanna wear a dress.”

“Kuchiki-san,” Uryu said, brushing aside a couple of hangers to make way for more dresses. “If you’re willing to broaden your horizons,” he pulled out a cream-and-violet dress with thin straps, “I think you could do with something sleeveless.”

“You’ve got the arms for it,” Orihime added, pulling up Rukia’s arms to examine them. “You should totally try it!”

Rukia looked uncertain, but regarded herself in the mirror as Orihime held up the dress beneath her chin. “Maybe,” she muttered, then straightened. “I’m gonna go to the dressing room and try this on, hold on.”

As she trailed away into one of the many changing rooms, Orihime turned on her heel again. “See? I told you it was a good idea bringing you in,” she said to Uryu. “My intuition is sharp as ever.”

Uryu raised his eyebrows. “Sure,” he said, unconvinced. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought this to be an active attempt of schadenfreude.”

Orihime frowned. “If this is about the time I thought you had a crush on Kuchiki-san –”

“It is –”

“I didn’t know you were gay back then!” she hissed. “It’s not like you ever told me the entire time we were in Soul Society!”

Uryu frowned. His capes were trying to make a Statement. “Forgive me for assuming we were there to save Kuchiki-san’s life and not – oh, never mind.”

Ichigo turned to Orihime. “You thought _what?”_

Orihime crosses her arms and huffed. “I didn’t _know_. Besides, do you blame me? Kuchiki-san is very pretty.”

Chad pat her head. “She is,” he agreed. “And tough too.”

“Super tough,” Ichigo added. “I mean, she could totally take me in a heartbeat.”

“Though I agree with the sentiment, I’m not sure if that’s a good metric to go by, Kurosaki.”

“Asshole.”

“The point is that Kuchiki-san is the best person ever and she has no reason to be nervous about this date at all. I mean, we only knew her for a few years and we love her so much, I can’t imagine how much Abarai-kun feels for her.”

Ichigo scoffed. “Yeah, he’s pretty much a goner,” he said, but his voice was fond.

Behind the curtain, Rukia’s hand was still half-upraised but she felt frozen with a flush of emotion, embarrassment, more emotion and an overwhelming feeling of _something_ rushing to her cheeks. These damn kids. These _absolute, goddamn_ kids.

“Oi, Rukia, what’s takin’ you so long anyway?” she heard Ichigo say, as his voice came closer to the changing room.

She yanked the curtain until it was fully open, tossed the dress into one of the nearby bins, then began yanking Ichigo by the sleeve as she stormed up to the group.

“Erm –”

“Kuchiki-san?”

She let go of Ichigo, then glared at all of them despite the heat in her cheeks.

“Come on,” she said gruffly, taking off without them but feeling the weight of their confused stares on her back.

“Where are we going?” Orihime called out.

“What about your dress?” Ichigo added.

Rukia turned and glared some more.

“I am going to buy you idiots some ice cream,” she replied. “And _then_ I am going to buy a goddamn dress.”

They took off like a bunch of feral puppies behind her.


	9. You Know He Had To Do It To 'Em

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chad teaches Renji what a meme is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I don't know if anyone remembers, but back in the days of yore when I wrote my [ Dad Friend Renji Fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25149307), we all joked about Chad teaching Renji what a meme is, and this is literally what that is. Writing has been slow lately, so I thought I'd take a shot at writing a lighthearted drabble between the two underrated dudes of the six hearts club. Set during the Advance Team arc, when these two were training together. 
> 
> No Byakuyas were harmed in the making of this fic.

The shoji slid open with a _swish_.

“What does this mean?” 

Chad blinked. It was not uncommon for Abarai Renji to be loud and abrasive, even so as to announce his arrival via heavy footfalls _minutes_ before he got somewhere. What Chad hadn’t expected, however, was the phone being thrust into his face. He squinted. 

On screen was a slightly blurry picture of a tall, sharp-nosed man with long, glossy hair that was pinned back with a kenseikan. His hands were locked over his belly, a solemn frown on his face. Chad zoomed into the picture. The man seemed familiar enough, dressed in the standard Soul Society Captains’ robe; Chad was about 80% sure this was the Captain Ichigo had squared off with on Sokyoku Hill, but he couldn’t be too sure. 

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” he replied slowly, eyes flicking up to Renji’s face. He looked distressed, like he’d spent a good ounce of his brain cells trying to decipher the photo. Was that what he’d been trying to do during their training break?

“Read the caption,” Renji insisted, thrusting the phone further into Chad’s purview even as the latter inched back. _‘Rukia [snowflake][crown]’_ it said, on the top bar of the phone. The picture, however, was artfully captioned, 

_‘You know he had to do it to em [sunglasses]’_

Chad chuckled, the soft sound of laughter passing through his nose with a small _‘hmph_.’

“What?” Renji demanded, taking the phone back and glaring at the photo again. He tilted it, and then also tilted his head -- like that would unlock some secret message. “I don’t get it. He had to do what? To whom?” He frowned, narrowing his brows at Chad. “This is a prank, isn’t it? Did Rukia set you up to this?” His ‘Rukia Put Someone Up To This’ radar was vibrating with an alarming intensity. 

Chad shook his head, surprised. Then, “Do you not have memes in Soul Society?” 

“Memes?” Renji echoed. 

Chad fished out his own phone, thumbing through screens and tapping at the buttons thoughtfully. Renji sank down to the stairs and sat beside him, peering over his shoulder curiously. 

“He had to do it to ‘em,” Chad explained, nudging his phone into Renji’s hand. There was a man, standing in the same pose as Byakuya, spouting a seemingly non-threatening smile at the camera. Renji glanced at the picture of Byakuya, then back at the meme, and a slow grin spread over his face as he snorted. 

“Ha!” he said, giving both pictures a once-over again. “That’s actually pretty funny. Thanks Chad.” He took his phone back, a self-satisfied smile on his face as he began typing back. 

“I could...show you some more, if you’d like,” Chad suggested. 

The idea of having an edge over Rukia in the meme game suddenly sounded very appealing to Renji. “Hell yes!” He clapped his hands together in enthusiasm, inching closer to Chad. “Show me the memes. Show me all the memes.” 

Chad smiled. 

  
  
  


**omake**

_Rukia [snowflake][crown]: Ichigo's been SNORING for the last six hours str8, it's killing me!!!!!_

_Renji [monkey]: this is so sad alexa play despacito_

_..._

_..._

_Rukia[snowflake][crown]: WHO THE HECK TAUGHT YOU WHAT A MEME IS???????_


End file.
